


The Muggle Studdies Professor

by AllisonMadness



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:14:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1333339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllisonMadness/pseuds/AllisonMadness
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quirrell comes to Hogwarts to teach Muggle Studies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Muggle Studdies Professor

**Author's Note:**

> This was a requested piece with a very specific plot.

The stone guardian at the gate looked suspiciously at the man standing outside the gates. "Name," it intoned in a deep gravelly voice.

"Quirinus Quirrell," the man replied, his fingers nervously intertwining. "The headmaster is expecting me."

"One moment." The guardian's eyes closed and a slight humming noise could be heard coming from its mouth. After a moment, the eyes opened. "You may enter," it said and the gates to Hogwarts swung open on silent hinges. Quirrell hurried through them, then strode along the path to Hogwarts. After he'd taken a dozen strides, the gates closed with a muted clang. His shoulders clenched, but he resisted the urge to turn and make certain that no one was following him.

He made the trip up to Hogwarts quickly, his long legs eating up the distance. His feet led him on the paths that had been so familiar during his school days, but he had no interest in looking at the lake, or the Quidditch pitch. His gaze was firmly locked on Hogwarts as it rose up and dominated the skyline.

The front doors were standing open, as if welcoming Quirrell, but the more likely reason was that it was a warm August day and the doors were opened to catch any breezes that might happen by. Once inside the doors, Quirrell removed his outer cloak, ended the cooling charms that had surrounded him, then took the front staircase to the headmasters office.

A glance around told him that the halls were empty. Those professors who had already arrived were probably in their offices, attempting to decide what information they could try to stuff into the brains of young wizards that would actually stick. Remembering his own school days, he knew that much of the information wouldn't last longer than the length of the class, and a smile played across his face for just a moment.

The gargoyle at the base of the headmasters office sat in silent rebuke as Quirrell tried to explain that, no, he didn't know the password, and yes, the headmaster was expecting him. After a few unsuccessful attempts at guessing the password, he stormed off in the direction of the deputy headmistresses office. At least _she_ had a door he could knock on.

The portrait on McGonagall's door glared at him as he knocked on it. "You really should know the password," the green-clad knight said with his nose in the air. Quirrell didn't reply, knowing that anything he said would just start an argument and there was no winning arguments with portraits.

The door swung open to a slightly frazzled-looking woman in green Tartan. "If this is about the…oh." Her eyes fastened on Quirrell in surprise. "Quirinus, what are you doing here? Albus was supposed to be meeting you."

"I'm sorry to trouble you Professor McGonagall, but I couldn't get into his office as I didn't know the password." Quirrell involuntarily backed up a step as she leveled an aggravated look at him.

"He said he would meet you at the front doors." She muttered something under her breath, then stepped out of her office. "Come on," she said.

The trip back to Dumbledore's offices was made in silence, with McGonagall radiating such large amounts of irritation that Quirrell was afraid to do or say anything that might upset her further. When they reached the gargoyle, she snapped out the password and it leapt aside as if afraid for its life.

She climbed the stairs, too impatient to wait for them to deliver her to the top and flung the office door open. "Albus!" She propped her hands on her hips and glared at the empty room. "Where is that man?" she muttered.

"Are you looking for me, my dear?" The voice behind Quirrell startled him so badly that he dropped to the floor and covered his head. After a trembling moment, he peeked through his fingers to find Dumbledore looking at him with a bemused expression on his face. With a blush, Quirrell climbed to his feet and made a show of brushing unseen lint from his robes.

"You were supposed to meet him," McGonagall said. "The poor man has been wandering all over the castle. Where were you?"

Quirrell wanted to protest that he hadn't been _wandering_ , but she continued on for several minutes about _punctuality_ and _responsibility,_ until Quirrell finally just sat in one of the armchairs in front of Dumbledore's desk and waited her out.

At last, she seemed to run out of steam and with a last "Hmph!" left the office. Dumbledore stared after her for a moment, then turned his attention to Quirrell.

"Quirinus," he exclaimed with a broad smile. "How wonderful that you made it."

"I was expected," Quirrell said. "Wasn't I?"

"What? Oh, yes, yes." If anything Dumbledore's smile got even brighter. "We've been looking forward to you taking over the Muggle Studies position. The last professor was somewhat…um…less knowledgeable about Muggles than we had hoped. He brought in a lot of items that he claimed were from the Muggle world, but then didn't know what they did."

"Did he manage to teach them anything?" Quirrell asked.

"Oh yes!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Quite a lot." He pushed a stack of parchment over to Quirrell and then placed a small pouch on top of it.

"What's this?" Quirrell asked, picking up the pouch and opening it slowly. Inside were several long, stiletto-type things in a material that Quirrell didn't recognize. He carefully pulled out a few and held them on his palm. "Are they a form of Muggle weapon?"

"No, no, dear boy," Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling madly when Quirrell glanced up at him. Quirrell wondered if there was a spell for that, even as he returned to examining the items in his hand with horrified fascination. "They're knitting needles!"

"What?" Quirrell exclaimed. "These can't be knitting needles. They're too short and too tiny and someone could get hurt trying to use them."

"I assure you, they are knitting needles. They're for knitting socks."

"Socks," Quirrell repeated dazedly, returning the deadly weapons to their case.

"Yes, quite," Dumbledore said. "Professor Emeliumptin was teaching the third years to knit last term and I thought it would be a grand idea to continue their knitting education by learning to knit socks."

"You're mad," Quirrell said numbly.

"Quite probably," Dumbledore agreed cheerfully. "Nevertheless, I believe that the children will benefit greatly from learning this wonderful skill."

"I can hardly knit myself and you want me to teach fourth years to knit…socks." Quirrell mustered up a glare, then almost immediately thought better of it. He needed this position and it wouldn't do to upset the headmaster on his first day.

"I think you'll do brilliantly at it," Dumbledore reached down beside him and brought up a basket containing balls of brightly color string. "This is sock yarn," he said pushing the basket towards Quirrell.

"Of course," Quirrell murmured. "Sock yarn. For socks."

Wondering what he had managed to get himself into, he shoved the little pouch of knitting needles into his pocket and picked up the stack of parchment. "Will you have one of the house-elves take the…sock yarn down to my office?"

"Certainly, my boy, I'll have it done straight away." Quirrell was almost to the office door before Dumbledore had finished his sentence. As he let the stairs carry him downward, he thought about the tiny pouch, with it's even smaller slots. Maybe, if he took the knitting needles out of it, he could put those little vials of pois… _potion_ he had in his trunk into it. The pouch would protect them much better than just carrying one in a pocket, and he could have three or four on his person at a time.

Quirrell could feel the beginning of a smile forming. Perfect.

 


End file.
